Constitution frisson

When we got back from Christmas holidays, there was an electric atmosphere: do you know about what President Kabila’s doing? He’s going to change the CONSTITUTION!!!!

It all sounded like the first stages of creeping dictatorship, and as the behind-the-hand whispering gave way to frank outrage when the final text was announced, the good people of the development world started to mutter about going home. “What”, they said, “is the point of us being here if the government doesn’t listen to us?”

It all started, of course, with the Ivory Coast. As it happens Gbagbo WON the first round of the election, which is why he was so cross that no one would accept him as president. It was only in the run off that his opponent beat him, as the opposition vote combined was too strong.

If you were sitting in your plush study at the Presidential Palace not too far down the coast from the Ivory Coast would you begin to wonder about you own voting rules? Rules which were thrust down your throat in high pressure negotiations a long time ago? You’d remember that in your first election your margin wasn’t that great, and now, the rumour-mill has it, your popularity is down the tubes. If you think positively, you can convince yourself that you’ll probably be able to win the first round as there’ll almost certainly be dozens of candidates to split the vote. But a run-off: you shudder to think what could happen.

OK, you must get together your coterie of advisers and start writing up some amendments. First up: how do you justify eliminating the second round? Why – because it’s divisive, creates polarization, etc, etc. And, oh yes, it’s expensive too. Pretty convincing, eh?

Second, what else needs to be sorted out? The provincial governors – that’s a mess. They are elected by the provincial MPs who abuse their powers by suspending Governors. OK, you, the President must appoint them from now on.

And while we’re at it, we’ll put the courts and the prosecution service under the control of the Minister of Justice. And to make it all look as though we are being very businesslike we’ll revise the procedures for annual budgets.

This has taken a couple of weeks, because it’s Christmas time, and the advisers are grumpy about being kept in Kinshasa when they could be relaxing with their families.

But wait: the parliamentary session ends on 15^th January. HELP!! There’s so little time. AND, worst of all, word has reached the opposition that we’re fiddling with the constitution, and they are starting to get very noisy. We can’t afford to loose this one.

Did I hear the word afford? Of course we can afford it. Give every MP who promises to vote for the Constitutional Amendment $20,000 in advance, and then $30,000 once it has all gone through.*

And so it came to pass. In three days, the constitution has been amended, and as we write is about to be submitted for Presidential assent. Do you think he’ll sign on the dotted line? Cheap at the price.

*This is, of course, a rumour. No honest president would ever do such a thing.

Home thoughts from abroad

After three weeks of Christmas Holiday we dread the moment when we must return. Waiting for us will be the mind-numbing chaos of the airport; the frustrating drive through pointless traffic jams, and unpredictable and threatening policemen. We also worry about work – is it really making a difference? Is it worth the struggle?

The actuality is not quite so bad. Our neighbours are on the same flight, They have spare weight, and take one of our bags for us. And there’s another person on the flight whom we also know very well. The-everybody-knows-everybody-else experience of Kinshasa has spread to South Africa. Thus fortified by group solidarity we prepare for the landing.

But the Kinshasa airport experience is not as bad as we fear. Our protocol officer is there to meet us and we get through without difficulty. The car is waiting.

At home we are greeted warmly by the security guard on duty, but enter the flat with some trepidation – justified, as it happens. The inside is like a vegetable garden: the cupboards are mouldy, the clothes are mouldy. Some of the furniture is mouldy too, and some of the ceilings have nasty brown patches. Clearly, it has been very wet while we’ve been away.

Towards evening we go shopping. They say it has been raining every day, so the city looks cleaner, but many of the roads have got new, viciously sharp-edged potholes. A ten-minute drive and we park outside a small supermarket with excellent French Cheeses, Italian salamis and Belgian pates. All the beers wines and spirits one can ask for are there too, and an amazing array of vegetables. We arrive at 7.25, not realizing that it shuts at 7.30. But no matter, we get everything we need and are back at home before 8. The simplicity of the transaction, compared to the frenetic crowds in South African shopping centres is striking.

Maybe things aren’t so bad here. We find ourselves looking forward to chicken and chips at the French centre on Friday evenings; the weekly booze-ups at the British Embassy and the week-end walk around the Lac de Ma Valée. To meeting friends we have missed over the last three weeks.

Home? Kinshasa? Slowly the realization dawns: the estrangement of the early days has gone and this is, we can admit (almost with pleasure, but not quite yet) home. Even if it is mouldy.